


Sweater Weather

by nikkiRA



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Multi, Or more accurately Felix stealing clothes, Polyamory, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23869489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkiRA/pseuds/nikkiRA
Summary: Felix won't stop stealing Dimitri's and Sylvain's clothes. They hatch a -- not very effective -- plan to get back at him.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 199





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> me: looks at a game about war  
> me: okay but what if they were all dating and the only problem they had was felix is a thief

Felix Fraldarius was a goddamn thief, and Sylvain was going to kill him. 

"Felix!" He shouts, stomping out of the bedroom and into the living room, where Felix is curled up in Dimitri's lap, face screwed up in concentration at whatever he's playing on the Nintendo Switch. He doesn't look up at Sylvain's shout, but Dimitri does, eyebrows pulling together when he sees Sylvain half naked. 

"Sylvain, you're going to be late," he says, as if Sylvain  _ didn't already fucking know that.  _

"Yes,  _ I know,  _ but I can't find the sweater Ingrid's grandmother bought me, and you know how touchy she gets when I don't wear her gifts." 

Felix does not look up from the Switch, even though Sylvain is glaring at the top of his head. Dimitri shifts, as if he wants to get up and help, but Felix doesn't move, and Dimitri gives Sylvain a look that seems to say  _ what can you do?  _ Even though the answer is push Felix off his fucking lap and help. Sylvain stares back, giving him a look that he hopes says  _ you are such a pushover when it comes to him.  _

“Felix,” Sylvain says again. “Do you know where my sweater is?”

Felix’s eyes flick up briefly before returning to his game. “Laundry basket,” he says. Sylvain and Dimitri exchange a look over his head. 

“Why is it in the laundry basket, Felix?” Sylvain asks in a slow, calm voice. 

“Because that’s where you put dirty laundry,” Felix says, in a slow voice mocking Sylvain’s tone. Dimitri shoots a disapproving look at the back of his head, but Felix cannot see it, and he wouldn’t have been bothered if he could. 

It’s not worth arguing about. Sylvain heads into their bedroom and digs about in the laundry hamper; if it’s not too bad he can just spray cologne to mask the smell, and Grandma Galatea will be none the wiser. But as he holds it out to study it, that plan goes down the drain. 

“Dimitri,” he calls out. A few moments pass as Dimitri presumably untangles himself from Felix. He looks nervous when he enters the room, like he already knows what he’ll see. 

Sylvain tosses the sweater at him, and Dimitri holds it up, so the large red stain in the middle is plainly visible. His eyebrows furrow. “When did we have something red?” He asks, as if  _ that  _ is the main issue. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Sylvain says, trying to walk past Dimitri, who grabs his arm and spins him around so his back is to the door. 

“It’s really not that big of a deal,” Dimitri says, ever the mediator between them, but Sylvain isn’t having it tonight. 

“I don’t want to hear it! Just because you get off on him wearing your clothes --” Dimitri flushes, but he doesn’t deny it -- “doesn’t mean he can just go rifling through our closets whenever he wants!” He checks his watch and swears. “I have to go, if I show up late and not wearing her sweater she’ll put me over her fucking knee.” He points at Dimitri. “Talk to him,” he says, sternly. Dimitri grabs the hand that is pointing at him and kisses Sylvain’s knuckles, which has the intended result of calming Sylvain down. 

“Please tell Ingrid and her grandmother that I say hello,” Dimitri says. Sylvain laughs. 

“You would probably still be invited if you hadn’t broken her window,” he says. Dimitri grimaces. 

“I was only trying to close it,” he says. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You never do,” Sylvain says affectionately, leaning in to kiss him. “Tell Felix he’s a dead man.”

“I will not,” Dimitri says, because of course he won’t. “But I will put up a load of laundry.”

“You’re the best,” he says, kissing him quickly again before heading back out. Felix is still curled up on the couch; Sylvain grabs a pillow and throws it at him. “I’m leaving,” he calls out. “If Ingrid’s grandmother yells at me I’m sending her your way.”

“That’s fine, I can take her in a fight.”

“You can’t fight an old woman, Felix.”

“Well yeah, there’d be no challenge. It’d be an easy win.”

Sylvain leans over him and forces his chin up to kiss him. “You’re the worst,” he says. “Don’t touch my clothes.”

“Don’t leave them lying around,” Felix shoots back. 

“It was in the  _ closet --” _

“Sylvain,” Dimitri says, and Sylvain looks up to see him in the doorway of their room. “You’re going to be late.”

Felix looks up at him and sticks his tongue out. Sylvain grabs it and Felix kicks him in the shin; Sylvain lets go of his tongue and wipes his fingers in Felix’s hair. 

“Sylvain,” Dimitri says again. Sylvain pokes Felix in the nose and then jumps out of the way before Felix can retaliate, but Felix just grabs the pillow he’d thrown at him earlier and chucks it at Sylvain’s head. 

“Sometimes it feels like I’m dating children,” Dimitri says tiredly, walking over to pick up the pillow. 

“I probably wouldn’t go around telling people that,” Felix says dryly. 

Grandma Galatea gives him a very offended look when he shows up, but he just blames it on Felix. She doesn’t know about their relationship, but she dislikes Felix enough that she accepts this with no issue. 

* * *

Sylvain is absolutely destroying Felix in Smash Bros. when he hears Dimitri calling for him. He pretends he doesn’t hear it at first, but when Dimitri calls him again he sighs and pauses the game. 

“That means I win,” Felix says. 

“Like hell.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t say no to him.”

Sylvain gives him a disbelieving look and then laughs, tugging on Felix’s ponytail. “You’re a dirty cheater, Felix, and you can’t say no to him, either, so I don’t know who you’re trying to fool.”

He heads into the bedroom, where he sees Dimitri, standing near the bed, looking forlorn. In his hands is a shirt; when Sylvain grabs it from him he sees it is Dimitri’s old high school gym shirt, signed by all the members of their school hockey team. It used to be white; it certainly no longer is. 

“It was in Felix’s laundry,” Dimitri says morosely. “I didn’t realize. I washed it with the colours.”

“Okay,” Sylvain says, completely unable to stand the sad look on Dimitri’s face. “I’m going to go kill him.”

“No, no,” Dimitri says, grabbing Sylvain by the arm. “It was my fault. And besides, it’s not like it fits me anymore. At least he’s getting some use out of it.”

Sylvain holds up the shirt against Dimitri’s body and sighs. “I don’t get it. We eat the same food.”

Dimitri chuckles. “And then when I ask you to come to the gym with me, you turn me down.”

“Is that step really that important?”

Dimitri laughs and pulls Sylvain to him, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him on the cheek. “I like you as you are,” he says softly. 

“Dork,” Sylvain says fondly. “If you’re not going to let me kill him, I’m at least declaring war.”

“And what does that mean?”

Sylvain smiles. “Just you wait and see.”

* * *

War is declared two days later, when Felix wakes up, kisses Sylvain on the cheek as he is making pancakes, and then heads into the family room. Thirty seconds later he comes storming back in, fire in his eyes, and grabs Sylvain by the --  _ very  _ tight -- shirt. 

“Take it  _ off.” _

Sylvain flips one of the pancakes and then turns around, grinning. “Well shit, babe, if you say so.”

“Sylvain, you’re going to stretch it out! Take it off  _ now.” _

“Oh come on, you have like three more MCR shirts.”

“ _ Sylvain --” _

“What’s the problem?”

Felix turns around, ready to appeal to Dimitri for help, but his eyes almost bug out of his head when he sees Dimitri wearing --

“ _ Are you kidding me?” _

Dimitri smiles apologetically at Felix, which drastically undermines Sylvain’s plan of a united front. Felix turns his impressive glare on Dimitri and grabs the hem of the sweater that Dimitri is, if Sylvain had to guess, mere seconds away from completely busting out of. “Your  _ stupid shoulders  _ are going to ruin my sweater, Dimitri!” Felix says, trying in vain to tug the sweater off over Dimitri’s head. Dimitri, thankfully, keeps his absolutely ridiculously toned arms down so Felix can’t get the sweater off. Dimitri was the weak link in Sylvain’s plan, but even Felix’s fiercest glare doesn’t seem to sway him. 

“This is not remotely the same,” Felix says, turning on Sylvain. “You’re going to stretch out my clothes, you moron.”

“You’re ruining our clothes, so we’re wearing yours.”

“The fucking stain came out of that sweater.”

“And what about the one you bled all over?” Sylvain shoots back. 

“That wasn’t my fault, I obviously didn’t mean to slice my fucking finger open.”

“What about the one you bled all over when you were  _ fucking sword fighting?” _

“Ingrid wasn’t supposed to actually stab me,” Felix says angrily. 

Sylvain crosses his arms; the shirt stretches ominously. “It’s war, Felix. Nothing you can do will get us to stop.”

Felix opens his mouth, then closes it. He levels one last glare at Sylvain. And then he turns around, walking back over to Dimitri. He shoots one last look at Sylvain and then lifts up onto his toes, leaning in close and whispering something into Dimitri’s ear. 

Dimitri’s eye widens. 

“Dimitri,” Sylvain says. “Whatever he’s saying to you, I will do it instead. Twice.”

Felix is, somehow, still whispering into Dimitri’s ear. Dimitri’s face is incredibly, ludicrously red. 

“Dimitri,” Sylvain says. “Remember our plan, man.”

Fucking hell, Felix is still talking. What could he  _ possibly  _ be saying?

Dimitri gives Sylvain a sheepish look, strips Felix’s sweater off of himself, throws it on the table, and then drags Felix into the room with a hungry look on his face. Sylvain sighs and tries to stay strong. 

He lasts about twelve and a half seconds before he pulls Felix’s shirt off over his head, takes a proper breath for the first time since he’d put it on, and then nearly sprints into the bedroom. 

If you can’t beat them, join them. 

* * *

After, as they are all lying together, Felix smushed between them, Dimitri lifts his head and sniffs the air. 

"Do you smell something burning?" He asks, worried. 

" _The pancakes_ _,"_ Sylvain shouts, vaulting over the two of them and running stark naked into the kitchen, where his ruined pancakes wait.

* * *

Ingrid is perched on their counter, drinking coffee and telling Sylvain about her latest disastrous date when Felix comes out of the bedroom and steals the mug out of her hands, taking a sip and then grimacing. 

“Fuck, why do you need so much sugar?”

Ingrid stares at him incredulously. “Make your own, then, if you -- hang on. Are those  _ my  _ leggings?”

Felix looks down at himself while Ingrid steals her mug back. “Oh. I was wondering where these came from.”

“Felix!”

Sylvain laughs and wraps his arms around Felix, hooking his chin over his shoulder. “Can’t seduce your way out of this one, babe.”

“Go take them off! And stop stealing my clothes!” Ingrid shrieks. Felix rolls his eyes and heads back into the bedroom, but when he comes out he’s not only still wearing the leggings, but an old lacrosse jersey with  _ Galatea  _ on the back. Sylvain isn't even sure when Felix managed to steal that, but he bursts out laughing as Ingrid hops off the counter, trying to wrestle her jersey off of Felix; Sylvain grabs Ingrid’s abandoned coffee and sits on the couch to listen to them fight. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: felixfraldaddy


End file.
